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' No. CVIII. 

THE MINOR DRAMA. 


u 


I DINE WITH IY MOTHER.” 


A COMEDIETTA, IN ONE ACT. 

ADAPTED BY 


CHARLES MC LACHLAN. 

WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., &c. 


AS PERFORMED AT LAURA KEENE’S THEATRE, 


NEW YORK: 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 

121 Nassau Street. 


PRICE,] 


[12$ CENTS. 
















FRENCH’S STANDARD DRAMA. 

Price 12 ± Cents each.—Bound Volumes $1. 


VOL. I. 

1. Ion, 

2. Fazio, 

3. The Lady of Lyons, 

4. Richelieu, 

5. The Wife, 

6. The Honeymoon, 

7. The School for Scandal, 

8. Money. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Mrs. A. C. MOWATT. 

VOL. IV. 

25. Virginius, 

26. King of the Commons, 

27. London Assurance, 

28. The Rent Day, 

29. Two Gentlemen of Ve¬ 

rona, 

30. The Jealous Wife, 

31. The Rivals, 

32. Perfection. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Mr. J. H. HACKETT 

VOL. VII. 

49. Road to Ruin, 

50. Macbeth, 

51. Temper, 

52. Evadne, 

53. Bertram, 

54. The Duenna, 

55. Much. Ado About No¬ 

thing, 

56. The Critic. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of R. B. SHERIDAN. 

VOL. X. 

73. Henry Vllt., 

74. Married and Single, 

75. Henry IV., 

76. Paul Pry, 

77. Guy Mannering, 

78. Sweethearts and Wives, 

79. Serious Family, 

80. She Stoops to Conquer. 
With a Portra'tand Memoir 

of Miss. C. CUSHMAN. 

VOL. XIII. 

97. S ddicr’s Daughter, 

98. Douglas, 

98. Marco Spa da, 

100. Nature’s Nobleman, 

101. S irdanapalus, 

102. Civilization, 

103. The Robbers, 

104. Katharine & Petruchio. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of EDWIN FOREST. 


VOL. II. 

9. The Stranger, 

10. Grandfather Whitehead 

11. Richard III., 

12. Love’s Sacrifice, 

13. The Gamester, 

14. A Cure for the Heartache 

15. The Hunchback, 

16. Don Caesar de Bazan. 
With aPortrait and Memoir 

of Mr. CHAS. KEAN. 

VOL. V. 

33. A New Way to Pay Old 
Debts, 

34. Look Before You Leap, 

35. King John, 

36. Nervous Man, 

37. Damon and Pythias, 

33. Clandestine Marriage, 

39. William Tell, 

40. Day after the Wedding. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 
of G. COLMAN the Elder. 

VOL. VIII. 

57. The Apostate, 

53. Twelfth Night, 

59. Brutus, 

60. Simpson & Co., 

61. Merchant of Venice, 

62. Old Heads and Young 
Hearts, 

63. Mountaineers, 

64. Three Weeks after Mar¬ 
riage. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Mr. GEO. H. BARRETT. 

VOL. XI. 

81. Julius Caisar, 

82. Vicar of Wakefield, 

83. Leap Year, 

84. The Catspaw, 

85. The Passing Cloud, 

86. Drunkard, 

87. Rob Roy, 

88. George Barnwell, 

With a Portrait and Memoir 

of Mrs. JOHN SEFTON. 

VOL. XIV. 

105. Game of Love, [Dream. 

106. A Midsummer Night’s 

107. Ernestine, 

108. Rag Picker of Paris, 

109. Flying Dutchman, 

110. Hypocrite, 

111. Therese, 

112. La Tour de Nesle. 

With a Po'trait and Memoir 

of JOHN BROUGHAM. 

[ Catalogue continued on third page 


VOL. III. 

17. The Poor Gentleman, 

18. Hamlet, 

19. Charles II., 

20. Venice Preserved, 

21. Pizarro, 

•22. The Love Chase, 

23. Othello, 

24. Lend Me Five Shillings 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of Mr. W.E. BURTON. 

VOL. VI. 

41. Speed the Plough, 

42. Romeo and Juliet, 

43. Feudal Times, 

44. Charles the Twelfth, 

45. The Bridal, 

46. The Follies of a Night, 

47. The Iron Chest, 

48. Faint Heart Never Won 

Fair Lady. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of E. BULWERLYTTON. 

VOL. IX. 

65. Love, 

66. As You Like It, 

67. The Elder Brother, 

68. Werner, 

69. Gisippus, 

70. Town and Country, 

71. King Lear, 

72. Blue Devils. 

With aPortrait and Memoir 
of Mrs. SHAW. 


VOL. XII. 

89. Ingomar, 

90. Sketches in India. 

91. Two Friends, 

92. Jane Shore. 

93. Corsican Brothers, 

94. Mind your own Business 

95. Writing on the Wall, 

96. Heir at Law, 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of THOMAS HAMBLIN. 

VOL. XV. 

113. Ireland as it Is, 

114. Sea of Ice, 

115. Seven Clerks, 

116. Game of Life, 

117. Forty Thieves 

118. Bryan Boroihme, 

119. Romance and Reality, 

120. Ugolino. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of BARNEY WILLIAMS. 
of cover.] 


















THE 


/ 

MINOR DRAMA. 

No. CVIII. 


I DINE 

A sn 

COMEDIETTA, IN ONE ACT, '~r$A9 

ADAPTED BY 

CHARLES Me LACHLAN. 

\\ 

AS PERFORMED AT 

LAURA KEENE’S THEATRE. 


WITH MY MOTHER. 


TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 

A Description of the Cost»me-Cast of ,h. Charaoters-Entrances and»- 
Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the 

Stage Business, 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the Year One 
Chas. Me Lachlan, in the Clerk’s Office of the District 
District of New York. 


Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty-Six, by 
Court of the United States, for the Southern 


NEW-YORK: 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 


121 NASS AU-STREET. 





























*>**» 




* 

* n 

*i *1 «. 

























(<£ast of t|)e Characters. — 1 1 Dine with my Mother.’) 


AS PERFORMED AT 

Laura Keene's Theatre, Dec. 31, 1856. 


Prince D'Hennin ...Mr. J. A. Smith. 

Pierre Didier r (a painter,) .Mr. C. Wheatleigh # 

The Chevalier .Mr. Benson. 

Germain, (a servant.) .Mr. J. Jackson. 

Coachman .Mr. Kellogg. 

Maitre d'Hotel .Mr. Williams. 

Sophie Arnould, (Prima Donna Assoluta,) .Miss Laura Keene. 

Marion, (a Lady’s Maid,) .Miss C. Jefferson. 


The Scene is laid in Paris, in the Rue Richelieu, at the house of Sophie 
Arnould. Time, ls< of January. 




STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 

L. means First Entrance, Left. R. First Entrance , Right. S. E. L. 
Second Entrance, Left. S. E. R. Second Entrance, Right. U. E. L. 
Upper Entrance , Leif*. U. E. R. Upper Entrance , Right C. Centre. 
L. G. Left of Centre R. C. Right of Centre. T. E. L Third Entrance, 
Left. T. E. R. Third Entrance, Right. C. D. Centre Door. D. R. 
Door Right. D. L. Door Left. U. D. L. Upper Door, Left. U. D. R. 
Upper Door, Right. 

*** The Reader is supposed to he on the Stage, facing the Audience. 


i 












I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


The Scene is laid in Paris, in the Rue Richelieu, at the house of Sophie 
Arnould. Time first of January. A boudoir—side doors—at the rear 
a mantel-piece, with handsome chimney-glass—rich and elegant fur¬ 
niture—boxes of sweetmeats, bonbons, bouquets, <SfC., <$(-c., scattered around 
on the tables. Before the window, at the it., a toilette glass; mir¬ 
rors, r. and l. Marion discovered, arranging the articles on the 
tables. 

Marion. Well, well! what it is to be a popular actress ! Did one 
ever see such a collection! Ever since daylight this morning, there 
has been a continuous procession of lacqueys, with presents for my mis¬ 
tress. First, a shower of diamonds—then a perfect avalanche of bon¬ 
bons, and a deluge of flowers. [ A Footman appears r., with a bouquet 
in his hand.] Bravo ! here’s another ! the shower has recommenced. 

1st Footmaji. Mile. Sophie Arnould—from Monsieur the Commandant 
of Choisy. 

Mar. Very well. [Footman goes out — Marion places bouquet.'] There, 
that goes by the side of the flowers. 

Second Footman appears, r. 

2 d Footman. [ With a jewel casket.] From Monsieur the Baron d’ Ornay. 
Mar. Thank you. [Footman exits—She opens casket.] Oh! how 
beautiful! it isn’t a stream, but a perfect river of diamonds. Oh, I could 
bathe in it with pleasure. 

3 d Footman. [ With a box.] From Monsieur the Viscount de Sainte 
Croix. - [ Goes out. 

Mar. The Viscount! Why, I thought he was ruined. [Opens box, 
and makes a little grimace.] However, I don’t think so any longer, that’s 
very certain ; ,but here comes my mistress. 

Enter Sophie, l., followed by the Chevalier. 

Soph.. Chevalier, you are really a charming man, and this bracelet is 
of exquisite taste. 

Chev. Oh! a mere trifle—it has but this merit, that it is the only one 
of the kind ; for Bochmer, the jeweller, destroyed the model in my pre¬ 
sence. 

Soph. Really ! then your duchesses will be absolutely furious, for I 
cannot wear a new bonnet but they rush directly for one like it. 

Chev. They must go there very often, then. 



I DINE wnil MY MOTHER. 


5 


Soph. Well, yes—rather so. 

Chcv. It proves that they have good taste, at any rate. 

Soph. Yes, it would, if they only adopted my good ideas, but they 
have no discrimination. Only fancy, now ; the other day Aspasia sent 
me home this—a perfect abomination. But I was in good humor, and 
for a whim, I ventured abroad in the monstrosity ; and would you be¬ 
lieve it, the very next day there were two hundred “ Sophie Arnoulds !” 
as they have called them, promenading on the Ooure la Reine ! I 
laughed so heartily when I saw them, that I couldn’t sing for a week 
afterwards. [ Laughs merrily.'] Oh, these women will be the death of 
me! that’s certain. [Seats herself on sofa, laughing heartily. 

Mar. [Coming forward.] Will madame dine early to-day 1 

Soph. What is there for dinner 1 

Mar. Just what you ordered, madame. Soup a la Reine, fish, poul¬ 
try, game, early vegetables, side-dishes of various kinds, and a dessert 
cf autumn fruit. 

Soph. That’s well; chevalier, you will dine with me to-day 1 

Chcv. Oh, impossible !—to-day I dine with my mother. 

Soph. [Laughing.] You dine with your mama? You refuse my 
snipes, then 1 

Chcv. It grieves me to refuse them—but- 

Soph. [Giving her hand.] Well, adieu, then, and much happiness at¬ 
tend you. We shall see you at the opera, to-morrow, I suppose I 

Chev. You sing there 1 

Soph. They say so. 

Chev. Then your question was needless. 

Soph. Very prettily said. Good bye. [Gives her hand, he kisses it, 
and retires. When he reaches the door, he sighs.] You wish- 

Chev. Nothing ! [Sighs again, and exits. 

Soph. Ah ! [ With an air of ennui, she sinks down on sofa, and places 
he earrings in her ears, and then calls , turning her head with non¬ 
chalance.] Marion ! 

Mar. Madame ? 

Soph. Has Mons. Didier brought home the picture—you remember— 
that which used to hang there 1 i 

[Pointing to one side of the mantel-piece. 

Mar. No, madame, Mons. Didier has not yet returned it. Indeed, 
if he had, madame would have known it, for M. Didier is so brusque. 
Whenever he comes, he enters sans ceremonie,—never even knocks at 
the door. Ah ! these artists, t-hey are so free and easy, and- 

Soph. [Interrupting her.] Marion ! Mons. Didier has been my friend 
from childhood. He made sketches with chalk or charcoal on the walls, 
when I sang in the streets of Paris. He is to me as my own brother— 
and I request that you will treat him, and speak of him, always with 
respect. Do not forget this. 

Mar. Oh, madame, I am polite and civil to everybody,—yes—even to 
artists. 

Soph. [ With ironical seriousness.] Indeed! You are really very 
considerate 1 Even to artists 1 We should despise no one, whatever 
his station in life may be. By the way, Marion, you have a good voice, 




6 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


your face and figure, too, are not at all bad. Why have you never tried 
the stage 1 

Mar. To tell the truth, madame, I have sometimes thought of it, but 
then I fear I should offend my parents. 

Soph. [ Satirically .] Ah ! yes, very true, it might offend them. Your 
father is a hack-driver, I believe ; and your mother sells fish—does 
she not ? 

Mar. Yes, madame. 

Soph. I beg pardon, really, I had quite forgotten their positions. 
Marion !- 

Mar. Madame 1 

Soph. Do you think, Marion, there is, in the world now, a happier 
person than myself 1 

Mar. No, indeed, madame, I think not. 

Soph. It is so delightful, so pleasant, so charming to be an artist,—to 
possess wit and beauty, youtVi and talent! Only think now, of the 
triumphs—the luxury—the glory of success ! To see at one’s feet, the 
noblest of France—the most illustrious in science, art and literature ! 
To keep them waiting in ante-chambers. A smile or a sigh from me, 
makes them happy or miserable. And, when sated with this noble in¬ 
cense, always forced, and seldom sincere, I desire true plaudits ; when 
I wish to win hearty and honest applause,—I rush to the theatre—ad¬ 
vance before the public, who have paid at the doors for the privilege of 
expressing their opinion ;—then, indeed, my heart beats with hope and 
fear ; for these are no courtiers, no flatterers ; but candid, faithful friends ! 
When they applaud, then, then indeed I feel the joy and triumph of a 
victory ! I have pleased them—awakened their sympathies,—they have 
smiled at my gaiety, and wept at my sorrows ! Ah ! Marion,—some¬ 
times they do applaud me—they do indeed ! 

Mar. They always applaud you, madame. 

Soph. Then, what more do I require to make me happy 1 Nothing ! 

I am surrounded with every comfort—I live luxuriously ! [Passes to 
the r ] I have diamonds fit for a queen,—my equipage and horses are 
the admiration of Paris ! What then do these great and noble ladies 
possess that I have not, whilst I have that which they do not possess— 
talent ? 

Mar . Ah ! but they visit the king. 

Soph. And when he wants to hear me sing, the king visits me. You 
see, therefore, Marion, that there is not in the world a woman happier 
than Sophia Arnould. [ Goes toward window. J What beautiful weather! 
It is cold, but the air is dry One enjoys life on such a day as this ! 
What crowds of people in the street. 

Mar. [ Who has also gone up.] You forget, madame, ’tis New Year’s 
day. 

[A noise is heard—Murmurs in the street, mingled with peals of laugh¬ 
ter on the stairs. 

Soph. [ Silting on sofa.] What is that noise 1 

Mar. [As Prince enters, c.] Monsieur, the Prince D'Hennin, Ma¬ 
dame. 

[JErif. 



I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


7 


The Prince enters laughing , and throws himself into a fauteuil r. of sofa 

c. of stage. 

Soph. What so amuses your Highness 1 [He laughs more heartily .1 
Are you mad ! 

Prince. Pardon me, my dear lady. It is— [ Laughs. 

Soph. Tell me, I beseech you, the cause of this extraordinary gaiety, 
and of the noise I heard beneath my window. 

Prince . It is a present I have brought you, or rather have led to you. 

Soph. A present 1 

Prince. Even so. Your horses were beginning to look aged, and I 
desired to replace them with six of the purest full-blooded English horses 
I could find. They are really magnificent! 

Soph. But this does not account for your peals of laughter, or the 
noise that— 

Prince. Patience, one moment. As there was no room for my present 
in your stable, I turned your horses loose in the street, and they made 
good use of their liberty. If you had but seen them prance and cara¬ 
cole ! And then to witness the alarm and astonishment of the passers- 
by—-oh ! it was too ridiculous ! [ Laughs. 

Soph. [Laughing.]* And you have really turned all my horses loose] 

Prince. Every one of them ! And to see the astonishment of the 
liberated captives ! They gazed around with an air of enquiry, as much 
as to say, “ What is the meaning of this 1 —Out without our harness I 
—Not even a saddle on our backs !—No carriage behind us ?—What 
crime have we committed 1 —Why do they thrust us out on an unfeel¬ 
ing world thusl” ’Pon my life, these sensible reflections of the steeds 
greatly affected me, so I had the six Normands taken back into the 
stable. The six English are, it is true, a little crowded; but at this 
moment are perfectly content. From which fact I concluded that our 
ministers are bad prophets—that the battle of Waterloo is forgotten, 
and— 

Soph. France and England are good friends. But how long will their 
friendship last, think you 1 

Prince. And now, my dear Mdlle., accept at once my best wishes, 
and my horses. [Kisses her hand. 

Soph. Upon my word, you are the true Prince Charming ! 

[Two servants prepare dinner table and retire. 

Prince. What! dinner so early! [Looking at clock.] Well, I must 
now kiss your fair hand and bid you adie»' 

Soph. You are mistaken, Prince, you cannot go. I shall keep you to 
dinner. 

Prince. Oh ! impossible!—quite impossible, I assure you! 

Soph. Impossible 1 

Prince. It is, upon my honor ! I dine with my mother. 

Soph. Oh ! if that’s all, you can sit down and write an excuse, and 
Germain shall carry it. 

Prince. By no means—in fact, I absolutely must decline. 

Soph. Why! 

Prince. New Year’s Day—a family fete day. I visit my mother but 


8 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


seldom, too seldom, indeed, and if I failed to do so tc-day, she would 
think me dead. 

Soph. But, by writing— 

Prince. [ Reseating himself 1] A little note of apology will not suffice 
in this case. She is a haughty lady of the old school. Every thing 
around her is modified, while she alone remains unchanged. In her 
eyes, my brother and myself, are still two children whom she sees but 
twice in each year—her birth-day and the first of January. Then, a 
family dinner, in great formality—a silent and solemn festival—during 
which the silence is broken only by my mother, when she recounts to 
us the usages of the Ancien Regime , and informs us that our father 
fought with M. de Villars, against the Imperialists All this, you per¬ 
ceive, is any thing but tray, but then it is a duty I have performed for 
now thirty years.—Besides, my mother's kisses are rarely bestowed, 
and I must not miss, perhaps, the last I may ever receive from her 
lips. Believe me, I am really distressed, but positively I cannot dine 
with you. 

Soph. [Tartly ] Cannot! and I have been weak enough to believe 
you were my firmest friend. 

Prince. What! not your friend, because I cannot dine with you to¬ 
day 1 But I will dine with you to-morrow,—every day for a month— 
whenever you wish it— 

Soph. [ Interrupting .] Pray wait ’till I invite you ! 

Prince. [Continues. J I not sincere ! I, who have fought six duels for 
you. and shall fight the seventh to-morrow, with M. de Fontanges, who 
dared to say yesterday that you sang A flat instead of B sharp, on Mon¬ 
day ! If I were not sincerely your friend, I should perhaps be of the 
same opinion as M. de Fontanges—for. in fact, you did sing one note— 
I will not say exactly false—but doubtful. I will not assert that it was 
not B sharp, but it certainly had just a shade of A flat in—just a shade. 

[ Goes up. 

Sojph. Oh, very well—very well—join the ranks of my enemies— 
criticise me. Oh ! hiss me, if you like ! 

Prince. Oh, no ! By no means ! I will fight M de Fontanges—but 
I do assert, most decidedly, it was not B sharp. I will, nevertheless, 
wound M. de Fontanges ! I hope I am amiable now? Three o'clock ! 
The deuce ! 

Sopih. You go, then! 

Prince. I must 1 

Soph. Although I wish you —beg of you, to remain I 

Prince. Were you a queen, the wish would be a command. 

Soph. No words. Will you dine with me 1 Yes, or no? 

Prince. [ Resolutely .] Well, then—No! I cannot ! 

Soph Oh! I am weary of that pretended admiration, which consists in 
bestowing upon me those hours that would otherwise pass heavily—to 
load me with jewels, which prove not friendship, but only that you are 
rich and prodigal! 

Prince. But- 

Soph. Oh, yes! You are about to tell me again of your duels! 
Of what import arc they to me ? Am I happier, because you fight for 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


9 


me ? Is it on my account, even, that you do fight 1 No. it is from pride 
in your skill—to prove your coolness and courage ! Fine courage, i’ 
faith !—when one has purchased of a fencing-master the power of be¬ 
ing brave, with impunity ! 

Prince. [ Much moved.] Sophie ! 

Soph. Oh ! I’m weafy of you nobles. 

P vince. [ With firmness .] Sophie, life has some duties which may 
appear trifling, but which are really important—aye, even sacred ! 
When my aged mother—trembling on the brink of the grave—expresses 
a wish that I can gratify, it is my duty to do s®s nor shall one act of 
mine give her a moment’s unhappiness ! Adieu. 

Soph. Adieu ! [7 he Prince reaches the door.] Remember, however, 
that I shall not dine alone ! I give you warning 1 

[ Throws herself on a Fautcul. 

Prince. And with whom will you dine? 

Soph. Oh ! with the first that comes. 

Prince. Well, I am content. [Going. 

Soph. [Aside.] Ah—h ! [Aloud.] With the Baron de Marcilly, it 
may be. 

Prince. [With jealousy ] Marcilly I 

Soph. [Deliberately ] With the Baron de Marcilly. 

Prince [After an inward struggle.] As you please. [Exit. 

Soph. [Alone — Rising.] This is too bad.—They are all alike !—these 
men who fawn at our feet, and swear they adore us ! Ah, gentlemen 1 
adore us a little less—and respect us a little more ! [ Walks about , agi¬ 
tated.] His attentions to me are merely to gratify his vanity. I answer 
the purpose very well, no doubt. Now, Marcilly lives nearly opposite, 

I have a great mind to invite him to dine with me. I will ! [/fkngs, 
and sits down to write. ] He is a very nice young man. The Prince will 
be furious, of course. [Servant appears.] Quick, Germain—this letter 
to its address—quick, quick ! [Germain exits.] -[Rises.] He con¬ 

descends to fight forme! Oh! I wish that Fontanges may cut and 
slash him all over. [iVoise without.] There they go—happy wretches ! 
What a stupid day this first of January is. [Goes to window.] Yes, 
dressed in their Sunday clothes, and chattering like magpies, as they 
saunter along. My admirers, too, for they are looking at my hotel, with 
their great stupid eyes, as though it was a menagerie. Ah ! well—I 
suppose they are happy. [Leaves window — Servant enters.] Well—a 
letter?—give it to me. [ifrrti/s.] “Your invitation overwhelms me with 

joy—but. alas ! I dine with my mother.’’- [She does not finish , but tears 

letter to pieces , and crumples them in her hands.] It is well. You can go, 
but don’t leave the house. [Servant retires hurriedly ] This Marcilly is 
a booby ! [Goes to chimney-piece.] Oh, friendship! [Sings.] 

Tradelira—It is like love— 

Tradelira! 

But I begin to feel hungry. I really feel very hungry. I will not dine 
alone, however ! [$i£s at table. Enter Marion.] What! is that you, 
Marion 1 

Mar. Yes, madame. I —— 




10 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


Soph. Why, you are quite a belle to-day. 

Mar. Yes. madame ; I have put on my new dress, because I- 

Soph. Marion, you are a good girl, and I esteem you very much. 
Come, sit down ; you shall dine with me. 

Mar. Oh, madame ! 

Soph. Well! 

Mar. Madame has forgotten - - 

Soph. What 1 

Mar. That this morning you gave me permission to go out for four 
hours. 

Soph. And when do you wish to go s 

Mar. Madame knows well- 

Soph. No ! 

Mar. I asked leave so that I might dine at home. 

Soph. Oh ! you have a home too. Well, you can go another day. 
Mar. Oh, madame! 

Soph. What is the meaning of this, when I condescend to admit you 
at my table 1 

Mar. I feel the honor, madame ; but if you would put it off until 
to-morrow- 

Soph. [Sharply.] What do you say 1 

Mar. I know that it is not your place to wait my convenience, but I 
did not intend to give offence. 

Soph. Very well, I accept your excuse. So come and sit down. 

Mar. Madame, I am sensible of your kindness, but pray listen to 
me. It is an old custom that we have, to dine at home on new-year’s 
day, and if I failed to do so, it seems to me that I should have no hap¬ 
piness during the year. 

Soph. And suppose I should refuse to let you go ? 

Mar. I should be greatly distressed ; but- 

Soph. Out with it. 

Mar. I should be forced to- 

Soph. Well. 

Mar. To quit your service. 

Soph. [Rising.] Be it so, then—go 1 
Mar. You discharge me? 

Soph. I turn you out of my house. You understand?—I turn you 
out! A girl that I took from charity, and who— You are not gone 
yet 1 

Mar. [Supplicatingly .] Madame, believe me- 

Soph. I must ring for my people. [Goes to the. toilette and rings.] Oh, 
dear ! how my head does ache ! It must be these flowers—these hor¬ 
rible flowers—they should be put somewhere else—in the saloon—the 
cellar—anywhere ! 

Mar. If—if—madame- 

Soph. [Ringing all the hells ] How is this ! I have twenty servants, 
and not one to wait upon me ! There appears to be a conspiracy to¬ 
day to kill me. [Goes to r. h. — Several servants enter hurriedly. 

Ger. Madame rang ? 

Soph. Here, throw all these flowers out of the windows! [They 





I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 11 

obey in a tumult .] Good ! Now they open the window just to give me 
a sore throat! 

Mar. But madame desired it. 

Soph. [ Passing to l.] She desires you to hold your tongue 1 Oh ! 
but I am well served—these lacqueys, who are always sleeping in the 
antechambers, I turn them out of my service. And you, sir, \to Coach¬ 
man] you drive a coach as though it was a cart, and place my life in 
jeopardy continually ! 

[Germain opens windows , l. h.—Marion takes the flowers on a con¬ 
sole to the left. — Sophie in front of scene to l .— Marion behind 
sofa — next, Germain, Maitre d’Hotel and Coachman. 

Coach. Me, madame 1 

Soph. Yes, you !—I discharge you. Ah ! you are there! [To Maitre 
d’Hotel.] What sort sort of a dinner is this you have served up to-day 1 
You might get a better one at the meanest tavern ! 

Maitre. It is what madame ordered herself—snipes. 

Soph. Snipes ! yes, it is always snipes ! For six months you have 
given me nothing to eat but snipes. 

Maitre [. Amazed .] Early vegetables—dessert of autumn fruit. 

Soph. Certainly—early vegetables in the month of January—why not 
rubies and fine pearls 1 Why, I shall be ruined by such extravagance ! 
I discharge you, too—there, go—go all of you, and never let me see 
either of you again ! \ Servants exeunt r. in disorder. — Sophie walks 

for some minutes, greatly agitated, and then falls on sofa exhausted .] 
Oh, dear !—oh, dear ! I am most unhappy ! 

Enter Dipier, announcing himself. 

Did. Mons. Didier, artist, enter. Good-day, Sophie ; I bring back your 
picture, retouched and restored by the pencil of friendship. [ Hangs it 
over mantelpiece.'] Apropos—[ takes an orange from his pocket \—one 
must conform to ancient usages, you know, Madamoiselle. I wish you 
good fortune and much happiness. It is an absurd enough phrase, but 
give me at least credit for sincerity. [ Places two oranges on table. — 
Sophie replies not.] Why ! how is this—you are weeping ! 

Soph. Me 1—Oh, no ! 

Did. But I say me—oh, yes ! Weeping on new year’s day 1 Why, 
the matter must be serious ! 

Soph. There is nothing the matter, I assure you. 

Did. Sophie you cannot deceive me, for 1 watch you too closely ; 
and take so deep an interest in you, that nothing can escape my eye ! 
Sophie, you remember the old house in that old fashioned street—the 
little room near the roof—a sort of pigeon-house, nothing more. You 
recollect the two garret-windows—very narrow and very dilapidated. 
In one warbled a young girl, to the accompaniment of a harpsichord, 
discordant and consumptive ; in the other was a full-grown man, 
amusing himself with a pencil and a worm-eaten easel. The two 
neighbors became friends—a good, frank friendship—nothing more. 
Sometimes they were fireless—they did not dine very regularly—they 
made no presents to each other, and for a very good reason,—but they 
took counsel of each other. The singer would say to the painter, “We 


12 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


are so far from the earth that heaven seems to be too low.” Then the 
painter would say to the singer, “ We are so short of coal that the sun 
seems to be too high.” “ Ah !” she would reply, “ but your heaven is 
within your reach—you will attain fame and success.” “ Ah !” would 
reply the painter, “ and your sun is very high, but you will yet bathe 
in his glory.” Since then, the singer has fulfilled the prediction—her 
glory is complete. While the painter still regards his heaven with a 
wishful spirit, but is as far from it as ever, she retires to her bed each 
night, in her luxurious home, to dream of bravos and good fortune. 
That young girl was thee, Sophie—the painter was myself. The 
old house still remains unchanged—and shall our friendship alone 
fail to decay ! 

Soph. [ Warmly .] My friend ! 

Did. Then take courage—tell me the cause of your sorrow. 

Soph. I dare not,—for, in truth, it is very foolish, if not absolutely 
wicked. 

Did. Go on—go on ! 

Soph. Well, then, this is it. To-day I have received presents which 
might excite the envy of a queen. 

Did. Yes ! 

Soph. All the nobility—the greatest in the land—have left their cards 
at my door. 

Did. Of course ! It is the usual homage to beauty and talent! 

Soph. But not one will dine with me,—not one, Didier—not ever, 
the men who swear that they are ready to sacrifice anything, every¬ 
thing for me !—Not even my waiting-maid !—they all dine with their 
mother—but, I—I, alas !—have no mother to dine with ! I thought, 
however, that I had friends, at least, if not devoted slaves,—but I was 
deceived—I knew not that I was the lone thing I am—and the know¬ 
ledge has made me very miserable ! 

Did. To feel that we have been deceived is painful—very painful, 
Sophie. Your sufferings prove at least this fact, that you have a heart. 
Cherish it, for it is rarely found with such persons as surround you ! 

Soph. My good Didier! [ Pointing ■ to table.] I dare not ask you to— 

Did. I would desire nothing better—but— 

Soph Yes, I know ! 

Did. I dine with— 

Soph. [ Smiling sadly.] I know, I know—[ rising ]—I do not wish to 
detain you any longer. Adieu, Pierre, adieu ! [Walks up stage. 

Did. Believe me, it pains me to leave you all alone on such a day 1 
[Utters a cry.] I have it, Sophie ! Cheer up, cheer up ! 

Soph. [ Anxiously .] What is it, Pierre I 

Did. What is it ! I'll tell you. Come and dine with us, and then, 
at least, you will not dine alone. To be sure, the meal will be a simple 
one, but you will taste the soup that father Didier loves. 

Soph. I dine with your parents ! 

Did. To be sure—that is, provided you can put up with humble fare. 
I can insure you a hearty welcome. Come, now, get ready 1 

Soph. You mean it—you really wish— 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 13 

Did. But you must make your toilette to correspond with the fru¬ 
gality of.the feast. 

Soph. Oh ! to leave this place— 

Did. Ah ! but not in that dress ! 

Soph. You don’t think I am dressed enough 1 

Did. On the contrary, a little too much ! Now I would suggest that 
you wear one of your maid’s dresses, something neat and simple. I shall 
present you as Mdlle Sophie, a neighbor of mine, a seamstress, earning 
eighteen cents a day, and I will answer for your reception ! 

Soph. You are right! [ Calls Marion and Rings — Opens door R. h. 

DuL She is not very attentive, this waiting-maid of yours. 

Soph. Dear me ! I had forgotten that I had discharged her 1 in fact 
I believe I discharged almost every body in my house! 

Did.. What ! Poor Marion ! What had she done 1 
Soph. Because she refused to — 

Did. Oh, I understand ! 

Enter Marion, her eyes red, and carrying a large bandbox. 

Mar. It’s me, Madame — I come to take my leave of you, since— 
Soph. Your Mistress retracts the dismissal, Marion. 

Mar. [ Letting box fall.] Oh ! Ts it true, Madame 1 
Soph. Yes, Marion, I wish you to remain in my service. 

Mar. Oh! What can I do to show my gratitude! How can I 
prove— 

Soph. By lending me one of your dresses, one of the simplest kind. 
Mar. Oh ! the most beautiful one I have, Madame—the most— 

Soph. No, I wish for the most simple one. 

Mar. [ Opening box.] There they are all at your service 
Soph. [Selecting one,] That will do, will it not, Didier 1 
Did. It is perhaps a little too rich, but it will do. 

Soph. Unfasten me, Marion ! Didier 1 
Did. Sophie 1 

Soph. Won’t you oblige me by taking a book ? 

Did. By all means ! [Takes book.] There ! on sofa. 

Soph. You won’t turn round 1 

Did. Of course not! [Turns half round. 

Soph. Ah! 

Did. You are right!—There ! [Jurns his back. 

Soph. Don’t you look in that glass, Didier. 

Did. Oh ! fear nothing—besides, I am a painter, you know,—there¬ 
fore it is of no consequence ! 

Soph. Oh, very true ! Now read attentively ! 

[Marion dresses Sophie before toilette. 
Did. What a delightful thing friendship is, isn’t it, Sophie ? 

Soph. Indeed it is, Pierre. 

Did. For example, now. Here is one of the most beautiful women 
in Paris, [Turning half round.] for you are one of the most beautiful 

women in- 

Soph. Well—well! 

Did. [Resuming position.] As I was saying —here are two young 


14 


I DINE WITH MY MOLIIER. 


people—the one full of confidence and security, the other as tranquil as 
a nun in a convent. Now, why is this ? Because love does not enter 
into the conference. Friendship is a plain, sensible, honest feeling— 
but love !—it’s all a rhapsody. 

Soph. There ! How do you like me 1 
Mar. Oh! Madame looks very pretty. 

Did. Perhaps so. 

Soph. [ Coming forward.'] Only perhaps 1 
Did. [Rising.] You do look very pretty ! 

Soph. Marion, you can go home. There now, go. [Exit Marion. 
Now, sir, if you are ready. 

Did. Upon my word you look very genteel. 

Soph. The air of a sewing-girl, have l not 1 

Did. You remind me of the old house and the garret. 

Soph. We walk, do we not 1 
Did. I like a coach better. 

Soph. But Sophie Arnould might be recognized in a coach ] 

Did. Apropos of Sophie Arnould—I bethink me that I have several 
more things to say. 

Soph. Speak ! 

Did. [Gravely.] Sophie, my father is an old stone-mason, simple and 
unpretending—my mother equally so. They will offer you what they 
deem to be choice soup ; it is for me that it is made. I always send 
my plate the second time ; make no grimaces at it to oblige me. 
Their language and manners are rude and homely, but I am their child. 
Some might be disposed to laugh at them, but don’t you laugh Sophie, 
for it would give them pain. You will dine off plates of plain, honest 
crockery-ware, ornamented with birds and butterflies, but their hearts 
will be sincere in the cordial welcome they will offer you. So now you 
are prepared. Now, then, we’ll be off. 

[Sophie takes his arm, reaches the door , and stops. 

Soph. Didier ! 

Did. Have you forgotten something ? 

Soph. No, Didier. You would take me to your home ; it was a good, 
a kind intention. [Grasping his hand.] Thank you, my friend—thank 
you ! but it cannot be. [Coming forward. 

Did. How !—is it your companions that you fear 1 
Soph. No—believe me, no ! If I were really the Sophie whom you 
wish to present to your parents, I would not hesitate one moment. But 
I am Sophie Arnould, the prima donna, under a fictitious character; and 
my place is not more with your mother than with the Princess D’Hen- 
nin ! 

Did. What am I to understand. Sophie ? 

Soph. You know I am worthy to be presented to your honest mother, 
who, in His sight, ranks as high as the princess. You have proved to 
me that you, at least, believe, that an actress must not of necessity be 
abandoned. Would to heaven that the world were equally charitable. 
Adieu, my friend 1 my brother, adieu ! 

Did. You desire this 1 
Soph. I do. 


I DINE WITH MY MOTHER. 


15 


Did. Sophie, I feel that you have done well! I thought only of your 
pleasure—you have thought of my duty. I thank you. Embrace me, 
my sister. [They embrace ardently .] Farewell I God bless you, Sophie ! 
my heart is too full to say more. Farewell! [Exit. 

Soph. Noble and generous youth ! And this poor Maurice, I have 
treated him badly ; and Marcilly, too—they are all good. [ While speak¬ 
ing, she has taken the picture and regards it with emotion .] Yes, they 
are right—a thousand times right—to be so anxious for the joys of 
home! [Addressing the portrait.] My mother!—my dear, good mo¬ 
ther ! 

[She presses the picture to her breast .—.As she speaks she approaches 
the table, and places it on a chair, sitting opposite to it. 

Marion enters hurriedly. 

Mar. Madame ! madame ! 

Soph. What do you wish, Marion 1 

Mar. I come to say that I told my mother everything, and she has 
allowed me to return and dine with you. 

Soph. Thank you, my good girl; but I do not wish to deprive you 
of your little fete. 

Mar. But I do not wish to leave madame all alone. 

Soph. [Gayly.] I am no longer alone, Marion. [Pointing to the pic¬ 
ture.] You see that I too dine with my mother. 

[She takes picture, falls upon her knees, and bends affectionately over it. 

The Curtain falls slowly to the air of “ Home, Sweet Home.” 


THE END. 


MASSEY’S 


DRAWING-ROOM 


No. 1 Contains, 

(?uy Fawkes, an “ Historical Drama.” 

The Man With the Carpet Bag, “Farce.” 
White Horse of the Peppers, “ Comic 
Drama.” 

Mesmerism, “ Petite Comedy,” 

And Twelve selected pieces. 


AND 

ENTERTAINMENTS, 

Being choice recitations in prose ami verse, together with an unique 

collection of 

PETITE COMEDIES, DRAMAS AND FARCES, 
ADAPTED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES, 
BY CHARLES MASSEY, 

Professor of Elocution at Burlington College, N. J., and Mechanics’ 
Society School, N. Y. 

No. 2 Contains, 

Love and Jealousy, “Tragedy.” __ 

The Irish Tutor, “ Farce.” 

Bombastes Furioso, “Burlesque Opera.” 
Sylvester Daggerwood, “ Comic Inter¬ 
lude.” 

School for Orators, “ Original Comedy,” 
And F.ighteen selected pieces. 

Price per Number, Paper Covers, 25 Cents each. 

The Two Numbers, bound in Cloth, school style, 60 Cents. 

Notwithstanding the great number of voluminous school readers, and 
speakers, that have already been published, there still exists a want, 
which is felt by all who delight in the practice of recitation, viz : a col¬ 
lection of humorous and pathetic pieces, in prose and verse, exactly 
suitable for school exhibitions, and social entertainment; this want has 
compelled the compiler, during a long course of teaching, to devote con¬ 
siderable time in gleaning from innumerable sources, for the especial 
use of his own pupils, such pieces as are best calculated to please both 
the reciter and the audience ; and he believes that the result of his 
labor will be acceptable to those who wish to practice the important art 
of elocution, either for amusement or emolument. The dramatic pieces 
will be found quite an original feature, inasmuch as they are not mere 
extracts, or mutilated scenes ; but although in some instances, consider¬ 
ably altered from the originals, they still retain an entire plot, and all 
the wit and humor that could consistently be preserved ; and are ar¬ 
ranged, and adapted especially for juvenile representation—everything 
objectionable has been carefully expunged, and they have in their pre¬ 
sent form received the unqualified approbation of numerous intellectual 
and select audiences, before whom they have been presented by the 
pupils of the adapter.— Extract from the Author's Preface 

S. FRENCH, 

Publisher, 121 Nassau-street, New York. 

IVESOjV & PHONEY, 

321 Broadway, New York. 

C. OfSI&OS & CO., 

Chicago, Ill. 























[Catalogue continued from second page of cover.'] 


YOL. XVL 

1*21. The Tempest, 

122. The Pilot, 

123. Carpenter of Rouen, 

124. King’s Rival, 

125. Little Treasure, 

126. Domby & Son, 

127 Paren ts and G uardian s, 

128. Jewess. 


VOL XIX. 

145. Dred; or, the Dismal 

Swamp. 

146. * Last Days of Pompeii. 

147. Esmeralda. 

148. Peter Wilkins. 

149. * Ben the Boatswain. 

150. *Jonathan Bradford. 

151. Retribution. 

152. *Mineralli. 


YOL. XVII. 

129. Camille. 

130. Married Life, 

131. Wenlock of Wenlock, 

132. Rose of Ettrickvale, 

133. David Copperfield, 

134. Aline or the Rose of 

135. Pauline, [Killarney, 

136. Jane Eyre. 


YOL. XX. 

153. French Spy. 

154. Wept of Wish-ton- 

Wish. 

155. * Evil Genius. 

156. * Ben Bolt. 

157. *Sai!or of France. 

158. Red Mask. 

159. Life of an Actress. 

160. Wedding Day. 


YOL. XVIII. 

137. Night and Morning, 

138. A3thiop, 

139. Three Guardsmen, 

140. Tom Cringle, 

141. *Flnnriette,theForsak’n 

142. *Eustache Baudin, 

143. Ernest Maltravers, 

144. Bold Dragoons/ 


YOL. XXI. 

161. All’s Fair in Loye. 

162. Hofer. 

163. Self. 

164. Cinderella. 

165. Phantom. 


THE SPANISH WIFE; by Samuel M. Smucker, Esq., with a Portrait and Me¬ 
moir of EDWIN FORREST. Price 12X cents. 

THE OATH OF OFFICE; by Charles James Cannon, Esq., with a Portrait of 
the Author. Price 12)£ cents. 

GUTTLE AND GULPIT. Price 12^ cents.! 

TEN OF THE ABOVE PLAYS FOR f 1 00. 


American Plays 12£ Cents each, or 10 for $1.00. 


Sent by Mail on receipt of Price. 

All orders will receive prompt attention. 

N. B.—A new play published every week. 

S. FRENCH, 121 Nassau Street, New Yorlt. 


* Those marked thus ( * ) are in Press. 











FRINCH’S MINOR DRAMA. 

Price 12^ Cents each—Bound Volumes $1. 


VOL. II. 

9. The Pride of the Market, 

10. Used Up, 

11. The Irish Tutor, 

12. The Barrack Room, 

13. Luke the Laborer, 

14. Beautv and the Beast, 

15. St. Patrick’s Eve, 

16. Captain of the Watch. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of Miss C. WEMYSS. 

YOL. V. 

33. Cocknies in California, 

34. Who Speaks First, 

35. Bombastes Furioso, 

36. Macbeth Travestie, 

37. Irish Ambassador, 

38- Delicate Ground, 

39. The Weathercock, 

40. All that Glitters is not 

Gold. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of W. A. GOODALL. 

YOL. VIII. 

57. Morning Call, 

58. Popping the Question, 

59. Deaf as a Post, 

60. New Footman, 

61; Pleasant Neighbor, 

62. Paddy the Piper, 

63. Bryan O’Lynn, 

64. Irish Assurance. 


VOL. XI. 

81. O’Flannigan and Fairies 

82. Irish Post, 

83. My Neighbor’s Wife, 

84. Irish Tiger, 

85. P. P. or Man and Tiger, 

86. To Oblige Benson, 

87. State Secrets, 

88. Irish Yankee. 

YOL. XIV. 

105. The Demon Lover. 

106. Matrimony. 

107. In and Out of Place. 

108. I Dine with my Mother. 

109. Hiawatha. 

110. Andy Blake. 


YOL. III. 

17. The Secret, 

18. White Horse of the Pep- 

19. The Jacobite, [pers, 

20. The Bottle, 

21. Box and Cox, 

22. Bamboozling, 

23. Widow’s Victim, 

24. Robert Macaire. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Mr. F. S. CHANFRAU. 

YOL. VI. 

41. Grimshaw, Bagshaw, 

and Bradshaw, 

42. Rough Diamond, 

43. Bloomer Costume, 

44. Two Bonnycastles, 

45. Born to Good Lu'ck, 

46. Kiss in the Dark, 

47. ’Tvvould Puzzle a Con- 
148. Kill or Cure. [juror, 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of F. M. KENT. 


VOL. I. 

1. The Irish Attorney, 

2. Boots at the Swan, 

3. How to pay the Rent, 

4. The Loan of a Lover, 

5. The Dead Shot, 

6. His Last Legs, 

7. The Invisible Prince, 

8. The Golden Farmer. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 

of Mr. JOHN SEFTON. 

YOL. IY. 

25. Secret Service, 

26. Omnibus, 

27. Irish Lion, 

28. Maid of Croissey,’ 

29. The Old Guard, 

30. Raising the Wind, 

31. Slasher and Crasher, 

32. Naval Engagements. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 

of Miss ROSE TELBIN. 

YOL. VII. 

49. Box and Cox Married 

50. St. Cupid, [and Settled, 

51. Go-to-bed Tom, 

52. The Lawyers, 

53. Jack Sheppard, 

54. The Toodles. 

55. The Mobcap, 

56. Ladies Beware. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 

of SOL SMITH. 

YOL. X. 

73. Ireland and America, 

74. Pretty Piece of Business, 

75. Irish Broom-maker, 

76. To Paris and Back for £5 

77. That Blessed Baby, 

78. Our Gal, 

79. |Swiss Cottage, 

80. Young Widow. 

YOL. XIII. 

97. My Wife’s Mirror. 

98. Life in New York. 

99. *Middy Ashore. 

100. *Crown Prince. 

101. *Two Queens. 

102. *Thumping Legacy. 

103. * Unfinished Gentleman. 

104. *House Dog. 

53 s American Plays 12 cents each ; or ten for $1.00. Sent by Mail on receipt 
of Price. *** All orders will receive prompt attention. 

N. B.—A new Play published every week. 

* Those marked thus (*) are in Press. S. FRENCH, 121 Nassau Street, New-York. 


YOL. IX. 

Temptation, 

Paddy Carey, 

Two Gregories, 
King Charming, 
Pocahontas, 
Clockmaker’s Hat, 
Married Rake, 
Love and Murder, 


YOL. XII. 

A Good Fellow, 
Cherry and Fair Star, 
*Gale Breezely, 

Our Jemimy, 

^Miller’s Maid, 

* Awkward Arrival, 
*Crossing the Line, 
Conjugal Lesson. 





































































































































































































































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